With no job and no boyfriend, Justin sees no reason to make a big deal out of Christmas this year, so he plunks down his severance pay on a cottage in the Caribbean and jets away for some Me Time. Not that he'd mind a little Us Time, you understand, but the handsome young islanders of his acquaintance are all friendly, fun, and straight as they come. He sure didn't leave San Diego looking for any middle-aged American gym jock, but when one washes up at his favorite local watering hole, Justin discovers there are worse ways to dance the night away. Too bad the sexy stranger is on a cruise and the next port is calling.<br><br>When he spies the ship still in port while he tends to his Christmas Eve hangover, Justin knows he must manage his expectations. Just because the ship's still here doesn't mean the guy will come ashore, and so what if they do cross paths again? Did they really connect as Justin thinks he remembers, or is that just the beer filling in the blanks? He invents an errand, throws on some clothes, and heads for the dock, figuring there's one way to find out.

Isle Be Home for Christmas

Cole is laughing, too, but he kneels to ask, “Are you alright?”


I am. The sand spray as he scooches closer is the worst I suffer, although my pride’s taken a ding. He helps me sit up. In the time it takes me to collect myself, Milton has walked out of his clothes and is frolicking in the surf like a dolphin. He calls to us to join him, and I am already stepping out of my shorts before I realize this is no guidebook nude beach. The ones I’ve visited certainly offer postcard-worthy vistas of sea and sand, but this little cove that Milton helped me quite literally stumble upon is twinkling, turquoise-tinted magic. He’s lived on the island his whole life, as have both his parents; it’s not like I’m surprised he knows a tucked away corner that I don’t. It’s more a question of Can the spectrum of greens and blues really be this vast and varied?


Chapter 9